


20-20

by theghostsofeurope (baronvonehren)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:59:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baronvonehren/pseuds/theghostsofeurope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had fallen in love with him then. Rain drummed down on the roof of the car; the air was thick with our cigarettes—mostly mine, I was fonder—and the radio played low, mostly hisses and static like scratches of stubble. You were growing annoyed as we stared up at the lights of their manky old flatshare and I was idly drumming my thumbs on the steering wheel of the car. I hadn’t realized it then, that I did love you, but hindsight is always 20-20.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 20-20

I had fallen in love with him then. Rain drummed down on the roof of the car; the air was thick with our cigarettes—mostly mine, I was fonder—and the radio played low, mostly hisses and static like scratches of stubble. You were growing annoyed as we stared up at the lights of their manky old flatshare and I was idly drumming my thumbs on the steering wheel of the car. I hadn’t realized it then, that I did love you, but hindsight is always 20-20.

When we returned to the shitty hotel room, you shucked off your suit and draped it over the back of a chair and flopped down on the bed as though you owned it. I hadn’t known then. I simply handed you shot after shot of whiskey until you quieted down and slipped into that drunken slumber. Of course, you woke me up in the morning with your banging around and your ironing. I never understood how you didn’t burn a hole through your shirts the way you drank in the mornings.

We continued in this suspended state of idle drunkenness and droning radios, the hotel room smelling of whiskey and gun oil. I fell in love with your voice—how singsong you became when excited, how quiet you got when serious. When you would have enough to drink in the evenings we would laugh about your last exploits, “Jim, Jim from IT?” You would ask and we would roar in laughter—genuine laughter—loud enough that the managerial staff would call our room and ask for us to be more quiet.

The best, and this is when I realized that I had fallen in love with him, was when he would sham gay. He pulled down his pants so that the elastic waistband of his designer underwear would poke out. His hair was styled with product and he wore mild eyeliner. I felt so guilty at first, liking him like that. I laughed along with him but I always had a pining for him, not exactly lusting but an urge to do something.

He had seen right through me—he always did.

One night, he had drank a bit, not a lot. I should have known that he wasn’t drunk but I underestimated his acting. He started to replay the events at Bart’s, his stunning performance, and when he was done he settled down on the bed next to me. I heard the cheap springs crunch from the added weight and my heart leaped to my throat; I sat very still and silent as he slung and arm around me to whisper in my ear the most eerie, quiet statement:

“I’ve known since the beginning.”


	2. New Year's Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On New Year's Eve, Jim remarked that the stars were beautiful.

You remarked to me, up on the rooftop on New Years Eve, that the stars were beautiful. Of course, I agreed, stubbing out my cigarette and taking a swig of cheap beer. It was cold and they were beautiful, burning billions of miles away. We were content to lie there in near silence, the excited sounds of a hotel party down below, beneath the stars.

You continued, in that same quiet voice that you wished you could see them all. The lights of London polluted the atmosphere and made for poor stargazing. We shared a quiet smile and I sipped my beer and looked to my wristwatch one last time before sitting up as well. I opened my suddenly dry mouth and you watched my lips in a way that made me nervous. “Happy New Year.”

You laughed, not at me, just laughing like one genuinely happy for the first in a long time. You smiled, and opened your mouth to reply.

The clock struck “12:00” and you were cut off by the blast of a bomb, our bomb, setting off in the distance. The night became an explosion of mortar and brick and a gasline that had been nicked that started a roaring fire until the air was nothing but smoke and brickdust and sirens. It was terrible and marvelous.

You closed your mouth instead and just smiled, beamed, and I realized that I would gladly burn anything for you—from buildings to stars—to see you happy.


	3. 6 AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is 6 AM in Belgrade.

The sand here is lovely. It gets in everything, everywhere it doesn’t belong, and it pools in the heels of your boots. It’s hot to walk on in mid-day, walking from the tent to take a piss, but it feels nice between your toes and soothes away aches. When we are bored, we lay around under the tent like dogs beneath the porch, playing cards and drinking from canteens. I love it here. It’s foreign. I would call it home, but here there are people that I genuinely like. The sand here is lovely.

And the fire is exciting. I was told that I have hands made for pulling triggers and honing sights. The sand was hot on my belly as I laid on my stomach, scribbling notes and calculating the wind and distance. Sometimes I lie here for hours, just waiting, soundless and unmoving. My patience is rewarded with a sudden recoil and the drop of my target; heart pounding, I begin to crawl and—

His eyes stare into mine and I’m gasping. Suddenly, I’m foundering into my bedsheets and letting out an indignant snort. Something obnoxious is playing. It’s Jim’s phone. I’m not in the desert, I’m in a shitty hotel room in Belgrade.

Jim says something in singsong and toothbrush that I can’t translate at six in the morning and moonwalks from the tiny bathroom—in his red briefs and socks—to the bedside table. He recoils from the phone and lets out a small sound of displeasure from static shock and the caller I.D. I roll over and pad my head with the thin pillows and he walks back to the bathroom, the obnoxious ringtone still blaring.

He spits and answers in a sweet voice that quickly becomes shrieking. It is 6 AM in Belgrade and I would rather it were noon in Afghanistan.


	4. Rainy Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in a long time, we sleep in.

The rain comes down in torrents and today, for the first time in a long time, we sleep in. Jim’s phone is eeriely quiet in the wee hours of the morning when I awake, body conditioned to start up at a prompt six. I listen, tuning out the patter on the window, to the soft and steady rush of air from Jim’s lungs and feel myself relax. He hasn’t slept like this in ages. Part of me wants to roll over and look across the room to see his face but the other half worries that the springs will give me away. The hush is perfect and I doze off.

When I wake, Jim is sitting in his bed, his laptop open but untouched as he thoughtfully bites down on a cream danish. I hold my breath and let it out, slow and deep, not wanting him to know I’m watching. Papers are spread out everywhere and he’s writing, deliberately, in pen. He’s so unhurried it’s bizarre. I wonder if this is what he always does when he thinks he’s alone or if the rain has suddenly dampened him down. I revel in the idea that the most mundane things are rare and priceless. Part of me wants to continue to watch him like this but another part feels guilty, like it’s almost greedy.

I snort and sigh and go through the motions of feigning waking up, stretching and spreading my toes. I slide my hands underneath the plush pillow of our four-star abode and cradle my head. “Good morning,” I murmur, not wanting to break the spell.

He looks up, finishing off the last bite of his danish, and smirks, lazily finishing his sentence. “About time, love. It’s a bit queer to see you looking at me behind those lashes like that.”


End file.
